Back when I was Jewish---you knew I was raised Jewish, right? Before I broke my family's collective heart and became a Christian?---I got to go to Hebrew School and hear all about the story behind Hanukkah every year. If you're not Jewish, you perhaps don't know that the holiday celebrates the "miracle of the oil," in that a tiny bit of oil (all that was left, due to the circumstances of the story which aren't all that important to my point here) ends up lasting and burning brightly for eight whole days, against all odds. I am here to tell you that the TRUE miracle of the oil is that...
Because it wasn't exciting enough to go to the movies on Friday afternoon, followed by a gala here at the house, followed by a sleepover Friday night, followed by some serious time spent down at the pond welcoming Spring (via the time-honored tradition of capturing minnows, splashing through streams, talking to the geese, and attempting to build your own dam), yesterday I took Chickadee to a fancy tea party. We drank iced tea from goblets and ate all manner of fancy finger foods, and I know they were fancy because each delicious morsel was tinier than the next, and everyone knows that fancy...
Hey, the GOOD news is that I don't have any cavities! That's due to my patented method of brushing often, never flossing, and having good genes. (I should totally write a book. "You Too Can Have Pretty Strong Teeth, Unless You Don't, In Which Case You Can Suck It, But Hopefully Not Before You Buy This Book!") Let's review: I do not like the dentist, Sam-I-Am. After a long dental care hiatus, my return to the dentist was somewhat traumatic, you may remember. But I soldiered on! I kept up with it! Even when I started having cavities and other problems! I'm like a battered woman who's CONVINCED...
I hate New York. It's harsh and I'm sorry, I know that Liz is scowling at me RIGHT NOW, but Manhattan gives me hives. There was a time, when I was in high school and then college, when I was close to death by ennui and I believed NYC to be the ultimate be all and end all in coolness, and as I applied to acting schools and pictured my glamorous life to follow---doing toothpaste commercials while waiting tables and eating giant soft pretzels while waiting for my BIG BREAK---when I believed that Manhattan was The Place For Me. That was, of course, because I'd never been there for more than a...
Hello! Thanks for bearing with me yesterday. I thought I was going to have more time to blog about it, but I didn't. Yesterday I: Was woken up at 3:00 in the morning by a hysterical child, got out of bed for the day at 4:00, was on the road before 5:00, slapped myself repeatedly on the way to the airport lest I fall asleep in the car, boarded a plane, got off the plane, was picked up by a man approximately 5 feet tall who had parked somewhere in the next county and most emphatically did NOT want to chat, put a full face of make-up on in the car while trying not to be carsick, got dropped off...
I left home this morning before 5, and this is the first chance I've had to breathe all day. Hoooooo! Today was wild. Hint: Soon you'll be able to see me being an idiot on TV instead of just here on the blog. Pictures and my incurable sense of county bumpkinism to follow, but I cannot type the entire thing on my iPhone. Be patient a little longer, please.
* Going to bed at 9:30 does not, in fact, make it any easier to get up at 6:00. I do not think that African Sleeping Sickness is transmitted by tsetse flies, I think it is transmitted by children. Children under the age of 10. Who never. stop. talking. * Once you own multiple Macintosh products, the white cords start mating on your desk. Should you wish to pack the appropriate cords to run your computer, charge your iPod, and sync up your iPhone, don't be surprised if you find a piece of white coax in your briefcase as well. And don't think too hard about it. * If you haven't received a...
Good morning! I have to make this quick, because this morning I have to go run some errands, and by "run some errands" I of course mean "buy a hat." My inability to figure out what the hell I'm doing with my hair as regards either the cut or the color is well-documented---specifically, here, here, and here. Oh, wait. Also here. My name is Mir, and I have hair problems. Oh, the humanity! So, um, true to form, it took me until a week before my trip up to NYC to remember that, oh yes, I HAVE MEDUSA HAIR. And although I wasn't thrilled with the results of the last time I had my hair done, it was...
As is so often the case, the moment where I hit the wall---and it happened yesterday morning right before I wrote that post, which was right after my darling son took a swig of the medication I offered and then promptly gagged and spat two teaspoons of liquid somehow, inexplicably, into a gallon of mess on himself, the couch, and the carpet---is the moment where things start to improve for no reason at all. Throughout the day I read through your kind comments and grumbled to myself at every suggestion of shakes or protein powder or anything else. Because he was eating NOTHING. He was...
